


Noone Here to Save

by toujours_nigel



Category: Captain America (2011)
Genre: First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 19:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/422543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toujours_nigel/pseuds/toujours_nigel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For whitmans_kiss, to her prompt: Bucky managed to hang on long enough for Steve to pull him back onto the train. Later that night, Steve is still trying to get drunk (now for entirely different reasons) - only it's Bucky who comes to talk to him instead of whatsherface.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Noone Here to Save

“What I can't figure out,” Bucky says when he finds Steve, “is what the hell you're bitched up about.”  
  
“I'm not,” he says, call-and-response instilled and automatic, and then, uncomfortable, “You shouldn't be outta bed.”  
  
Bucky shrugs. “It's just a sling.”  
  
“You nearly died.” He finds he can say it, just so long as he doesn't look at Bucky, just so long as he emphasizes nearly in his head. You _nearly_ died. You nearly _died_. _You_ nearly died.  
  
Bucky shrugs again, snags the nearest chair with his functioning hand and thumps it into place. “Dunno if you've noticed, punk, but there's a war on.”  
  
“Buck,” he says, attempts reproach, “you should've said earlier. I was wondering why we were running around getting shot at all this while.”  
  
Bucky rolls his eyes, picks up his bottle of rum and holds it to the light. “You're not the slightest bit drunk, are you? Course you're not. Waste of alcohol.” He takes a swig, shivers, sets the bottle carefully down. “Damn sight better than the usual swill, too.”  
  
“I'm sure I've an upper limit,” he says. He aims to hit it, tonight. There's a lot of grateful barkeeps around, and the one in this town's donated him an entire crate of the stuff. He's not rightly sure it'll help any, but that's never stopped him before.  
  
“I talked to Agent Carter, some,” Bucky says, “after you got the 107th out. Figured you two would just keep making sheep's eyes at each other till one'a you died a heroic death, so I thought I might try and grease the wheels a bit.”

“Looked in the bar like you wanted to grease the wheels for your own advantage, to me.”

Bucky aims a very unimpressed look at him. “Just used to needing to do work to get you a date, Rogers, don't be an ungrateful punk. Anyhow, we got to talkin' about your fool plan of volunteering for experimental procedures. Remind me to hit you for that, prob'ly with a tank. She showed me all the USO photos, said you were happy being a dancing monkey till you found out I'd been taken.”  
  
“I wasn't happy,” he ventures, terrified now. It's strange to feel so much like Little Stevie in this behemoth of a body, but Bucky in this maudlin, unstoppable rant always ends in more trouble than he knows how to deal with.  
  
“Nah, don't suppose you were. But you weren't getting dropped into enemy territory neither, were you?”  
  
“Bucky.”  
  
“Makes a man think.”  
  
“Must hurt,” he says, but Bucky doesn't even crack a grin. “I won't. Bucky, you know I...”  
  
Bucky nods, looks away, looks back. “And when you left today, I thought. You didn't look too happy you saved your best friend's life, Steve.”  
  
“Bucky, you nearly died,” he says, and replays it in his head with a drenching horror. _You nearly died_ , emphasis on everything.  
  
Bucky says, “Yeah, that's about what I thought,” and leans in, careful of his arm and of the bottle between them, and kisses him on the mouth.


End file.
